


after everything you still have my heart in your hands

by whatweowetoeachother



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, DSMP, Dream Smp, Hallucinations, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Final Disc War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29359341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatweowetoeachother/pseuds/whatweowetoeachother
Summary: George visits Dream in the prison.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 38





	after everything you still have my heart in your hands

The gate opens after a series of beeps. Slowly, heavily, the lava falls with a silent, weighted shuffling.

Behind it, is a figure sat leaning against the wall. His hands are cuffed in front of him, the orange of his clothes clashing terribly with his hair. His head tilted, facing the ceiling. His eyes are closed. 

The mask is gone.

George steps onto the platform as instructed. Walks with it, forcing his legs to move.

He walks until he stands itchingly near to Dream, and the lava has fallen back down around them.

“Dream,” he says, as bravely as he can. It is not very brave.

Dream opens his eyes, looks down the bridge of his nose to see George. And for a moment, they are back in their palace-room, talking and planning, and pretending they had everything. Pretending they were everything. 

Dream smiles. 

“You’re here,” he greets tiredly. Unsurprised, even though George hadn’t ever visited. Even though they haven’t seen each other since so long ago, since things were good, and beautiful, and they were beautiful with it. 

“I am,” he agrees, voice scratchy. “I’m here.” 

Dream closes his eyes, as if in pain, and lets his head lull to one side. “Again,” he breathes, a faded smile still etched on his face. “You’re back again. Why are you back again?”

“What?” 

_“Why?”_ He asks again, a desperate edge creeping into his voice. He raises his hands to his face and presses his palm against his eyelids. “What do you want from me? You’ve said everything you wanted to say, and I have sat here, and listened. Why are you still here, why won’t you leave?” 

“Dream,” he says hesitantly. He’d come here with the intention of telling him the _everything_ that he presumes is what Dream says he’s already said. But now, “I’ve never- I’ve never been here.”

Dream lets his arms fall, even as he half-laughs, even as he presses further against the wall, away from George’s voice. “You say that every time, too. You say that, then you torture me, like all the other times.” 

“I don’t- ”

“Stop,” he whispers harshly, raggedly. He’s never sounded like that before. Not to George. Never to George.

George swallows. He tastes nothing, his throat has gone numb. 

Does he approach him? He almost wishes it were the reason Dream thinks he’s been here before, that he’s thought of him so much that it has materialised into his own version of George. A version where they were still together, even if it were just in his head. 

Does he touch him? Can he reach him? 

He stands in the middle of the room, aching for the boy in front of him. 

Before he can, Dream has rolled his head down to stare at the floor between his knees. 

“It’s always you, isn’t it?” He says lowly, still to the floor. “It’s always you, you’ve haunted my dreams, you’ve haunted every waking moment, every action I’ve taken. Why is it always you?”

George watches, silent, and Dream turns to look up at her, lips pulling into a grimace of a smile. 

“I don’t normally do this, you know,” he confesses. “Of course you know, you’re me. You know I don’t normally talk to you when you appear.” 

Dream pats on the floor next to him. George moves woodenly, bones silently creaking, and sits down beside him. They face each other, and Dream smiles wryly. 

“God, you never change, do you?” he asks, but it is soft. Softer than George remembers. “Can you excuse me just this time? For talking to you. For not letting you hurt me again.” He raises a hand to his face, traces his cheekbones.

George watches. 

They breathe. Quietly, together, eyes on each other.

Slowly, George brings a trembling hand to touch the one on his face. The hand is terribly _real _, starkly so, compared to what he’s been dreaming of. Dream’s other hand reaches for his shoulder, pulling him into a hug, and burying his face into the crook of George’s neck. George presses back, gripping him as tightly as he can without breaking the fragility of the moment they’ve built. A small part of him wonders that if he gripped too tight, Dream would think he was actually there.__

They breathe.

“You hurt me,” Dream mumbles, lips against his skin. Bold, reduced to nothing but a truth, with George’s hand on the back of his neck. He hurts him. He’s hurt him. It is simple. 

He’s hurt him by being there, and by not. Dream’s hurt him, with his wild eyes and conquering words. With promises and whispered secrets and declarations of power in front of children. 

George hears himself laugh. “You hurt me, too. You hurt me so much.”

They cling tighter, impossibly so. Dream smells like smoke, like the dust of newly-mined blocks. Beneath that, the same citrus smell of _Dream_ , that has grown sweet over time. Over so much time. He wants to pull them together, until he is part of him and they could never be parted. Until it would be like severing a limb, to tear them apart. 

_Even after everything_ , he finds himself thinking. _Even after everything, I still want you._

He closes his eyes, and lets himself drown in it.

**Author's Note:**

> lmao c!dream's a really terrible person, but also this was fun to write :)
> 
> just pretend georgenotfound is actually part of the plot


End file.
